A Celebration Of Tex-Mex, Without Apology

By JOE DRAPE

Published: October 24, 2007

WHEN I arrived in Texas as a college freshman in 1980, there were a great many things I knew nothing about. Among them were Tony Lama boots, espadrilles and Tex-Mex food. I remain clueless about the Lone Star State's indigenous footwear, but I continue to search for the perfect enchilada.

Somehow, I blame Lindsey Buckingham of Fleetwood Mac. Mr. Buckingham and I have never discussed the essence of Tex-Mex. We have never spoken at all. His road manager, however, gave me and each of my three buddies $20 and a ticket to a Fleetwood Mac concert so he could cut the line at Herrera's, then a 30-seat cafe on its way to becoming a Dallas institution.

When you're 18 at a B.Y.O.B. place with a cooler full of beer, being paid to wait is not a problem. Once we sat down, I understood why Mr. Buckingham shelled out $80 to get at the $5 combination platter. What I tasted for the first time was extraordinary: Cheese, meat and chili gravy all swirled together, encased in tortillas and buttressed by rice and refried beans.

I've been hooked ever since, which has become a curse. It's hard to be a Tex-Mex aficionado when you don't live in Texas.

I have come across the authentic article in such likely places as Phoenix, as well as such unlikely ones as Wilmington, Del. My current home, New York City? Let's just say it remains con-queso challenged.

So recently I returned to the great state of Texas to get lost in my very own tamale triangle: San Antonio, Houston and Dallas. When I learned that the government of Mexico flew in the owners of 50 Mexican restaurants in the United States and Canada this summer to teach them what's authentic and what's not, the expedition picked up some gravity.

Among food snobs, the Mexican vs. Tex-Mex argument has been raging for decades. It is a wrongheaded debate, according to Robb Walsh, who wrote ''The Tex-Mex Cookbook: A History in Photos and Recipes'' (Broadway, 2004).

''Tex-Mex isn't Mexican food,'' said Mr. Walsh. ''It is an American regional cuisine. So why do we have to apologize to Mexico for it?''

Mr. Walsh said the late food writer Waverley Root got it right when he described Tex-Mex as ''native foreign food.''

''It is native, for it does not exist elsewhere; it was born on this soil,'' Root wrote in ''Eating in America: A History''(William Morrow & Co., 1976), with Richard de Rochemont. ''But it is foreign in that its inspiration came from an alien cuisine.''

After the book was published, of course, Tex-Mex moved into the mainstream, and that was where the trouble started. Between microwaved burritos in convenience stores and nacho platters served with two-for-one margaritas in casual chains across the land, Tex-Mex got itself a bad reputation.

The history of Tex-Mex begins with the ''chili queens'' of San Antonio, who in the late 1800s transformed the plazas of the city into destinations for everyone from soldiers to tourists in silk hats to Mexican bootblacks, all seeking generous portions of chili and beans, with a tortilla on the side -- for a dime.

It is hard to pin down experts and restaurateurs as to what happened to Mexican food when it crossed the border. The best explanation is perhaps the most inelegant: it got cheesier, chili-er and meatier.

''Cal-Mex is long on burritos and sour cream,'' Mr. Walsh said. ''In New Mexico, it's all about green chilies, and in Arizona they are proud to have invented chimichangas -- deep-fried burritos. The embodiment of Tex-Mex is a cheese enchilada with gravy.''

While superior Tex-Mex food may be specific to Texas, it is hardly restricted to one region or city. In 10 years as a Texas resident, I learned that there is no such thing as a best Tex-Mex restaurant in any given city. Instead, there are favorites recommended by locals. This is because the restaurants are family run, and the true Tex-Mex aficionado is usually a good neighbor who supports more than one family.

San Antonio is arguably the cuisine's Paris, the place where dozens of top-notch restaurants have built on the foundation of the chili queens, but have not been afraid of injecting their own artistry. No place embodies this better than El Mirador, which since 1967 has been owned and operated by the Trevino family.

Each morning Maria Trevino, 97, is in the kitchen as the fresh fruits and vegetables are delivered to the restaurant, an ivy-covered stucco building at the edge of downtown. Her handwritten recipes, kept in a large book, have been handed down for generations in her family in Guanajuato, Mexico, or the family of her late husband Julian, who was from Salinas Victoria.

Do?ari, as she is known to the patrons she's been serving for nearly four decades, watches over the preparations of all of El Mirador's sauces. None is made more painstakingly than the mole, which is prepared only once a week. It takes a whole day to get the right blend of ground chili peppers and nuts -- among them almonds and pecans -- to go with the cacao, sugar and cinnamon.

You can taste that effort when the mole is presented over a plate of enchiladas. It gives the cheese a sweet, chocolate flavor and teases the smokiness out of the beef and chicken.